


Long Time Traveller

by sundogs



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: No Romance, Other, SHIRO IS 18 AND LANCE IS 17 WHEN THEY MEET, depends on the reception of the people towards it, high school sh/ance, might expand, non-paladin, the sexual offense was not committed by shiro, this was a piece i submitted for my creative writing subject
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 07:51:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11801676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sundogs/pseuds/sundogs
Summary: The night of Lance's 17th birthday capsizes his life entirely. His saving grace comes in the form of a trusty upperclassman.*Possible Romance, but none for the time being!*





	Long Time Traveller

Prompt: Being at peace with your past and ultimately moving forward  


* * *

  
It began when the door slipped shut, when the lights flipped closed, and when Lance’s back hit the mattress.  
  
He was enveloped in darkness — save for the window’s shutters which were left half open, granting Lance the slightest comfort of not completely being defenseless. Once Lance’s body was spread over the too-cold bed sheets, with what little his eyes could perceive in the blackness, he attempted to scrutinize the figure above him. The figure was a man in every sense; he was enormous — dwarfing Lance’s lithe body, with his broad shoulders, with this thighs that weighed down on Lance’s hips — rendering the remaining strength that Lance had left within him futile — with his big, burly limbs that seemed to never end — he was no doubt stronger than Lance, and most of all... he was plain terrifying.  
  
Lance had already sensed his defeat the moment the man had grappled him into submission.  
  
However, once the man’s hands began wandering further from Lance’s torso, once his thighs were spread apart with a single, forceful nudge… in those exact moments the absoluteness of everything hit him. Suddenly, the fingers that trailed all over his body felt like pinpricks — every single one stinging no less than the previous — followed by lips that pressed bruising kisses with gooseflesh erupting in its wake, they marred his body with psychological imprints, which Lance was certain would never vanish.  
  
His body was violated that night.

By the time the unsolicited intrusions began, in his final attempt to salvage the remains of his sanity, Lance had withdrawn into a subspace in his mind where he would be unable to render whatever the man did to him and his body.

It was peculiar.

It was a blur of recurring bouts of pain flashing and fading, sounds of skin smacking roughly against skin, and words he couldn’t register being grunted into his ear. It was peculiar.

Lance turned 17 that day.

* * *

  
Lance could vividly recount everything that took place that night with blasted accuracy — save for the act itself. No matter how hard he tried to leave behind whatever took place that night, he was still able to find traces of the incident engraved all over his body.

His arms spelled out the words ‘used’.

His torso, ‘damaged’.

And his legs, the worst of them all, spelled ‘whore’.

As a result, after attending his classes early in the day, Lance would spend hours in the shower at night, methodically scrubbing his skin raw in a desperate attempt to erase the words that echoed back at him whenever he dared to look at himself in the mirror.

His life became a pitiful routine of attempting to forget the wretched incident that capsized his world, and attempting to remember who he was before he had his innocence taken away from him. It would always result in complete failure, though. And every single failure carved the void inside of him deeper, propelling his self-hatred even further. It was peculiar.

This self-hatred translated itself into all aspects of Lance’s life.

He distanced himself from his friends in school for fear of spilling his harrowing secret, and refrained in engaging in conversations with his family altogether, for fear of being ostracized once they knew of the deviance he took part in. Bemused at first, they gave him the space they thought he needed. But later on, growing impatient with the phase that they had expected to end already, they grew frustrated with his detachedness and gave up on him altogether. In the end, Lance had gotten what he wanted. He was truly, unmistakably alone. It was peculiar. The isolation he initially thought he would seek comfort from, ultimately gave him the most grief.

Lance who had nobody left to talk to but the voices inside of his head, grew to become squeamish whenever a person so much as dared to approach him. His jumpy nature which usually drew everybody away from him failed to thwart Shiro’s friendly temperament.

He was in the library that day, seeking shelter from the blistering heat outside, and the crowded campus that emerged from it. Lance was falling asleep against a bookshelf when he felt a gentle nudge against his shoulder.

“There’s a couch somewhere inside the study hall, you’d sleep much more comfortably there.” The stranger looked sheepish, sporting a hand at the back of his neck, his ears turning a pretty shade of pink.

Lance, who would usually begin to feel frazzled at someone’s presence strangely felt at ease. He nodded at Shiro, stood up and scurried away. It was peculiar.

That chance meeting, Shiro, was the turning point in Lance’s life that he so urgently needed before he ended up off-ing himself completely. A few more conversations stemmed from their encounter at the library. Shiro was surprisingly sensitive. In the short time they spent together, he was able to analyze what each action of his would gage from Lance respectively. This was the deciding factor, Shiro was going to be Lance’s friend.

* * *

  
Lance had decided that after four years of being best-friends with Shiro and trusting him completely with his entire life, he was finally going to lift the weight off his shoulders by telling him about that dreaded night, his 17th birthday.  


* * *

  
There were many things that Lance had heard throughout the course of his life, but the words he remembered by heart and had ingrained into his mind came from Shiro.  
  
**“Lance, remember this.  
**

**The world has not been kind to you, it has shown you so much misery and caused you so much pain. It had taken away something important from you very early on in your existence, but always remember this, you are not of lesser significance nor are you less of a person. You are not damaged goods that people would disregard. You were bruised, you were broken, and yet here you are — you are in every sense alive, and breathing, and that is enough.**

**You don’t need to be perfect in order to be human, Lance. Heavens, no… you need just need to be yourself, Lance, nothing more, nothing less.”**

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, this is the second time I've decided to write (and finish) a fic that I planned on posting here. This took me a few hours to make and really pushed me to create scenes that I never pictured to include in this story. Hopefully my teacher gives me a high enough score on this! Thank you for reading, kindly do leave any criticism/remarks, both are appreciated! Leave a kudos too, if you'd like~


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